


Family Traditions

by VeriLee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Going home for the holidays, Plaidam, Sappy cuddling, Thanksgiving, an abundance of flannel, and very very mild, falling for flannel, m is for mushy, mention of a future reylo baby, soft as a flannel blanket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-26 15:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20744597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeriLee/pseuds/VeriLee
Summary: “It was a tradition that came out of me not wanting to dress up,” Ben explained. “My mom cut me a deal when I was ten. No dress shirt, no tie. But I’d wear one of my flannel button-ups and tuck it in. She and my dad made it a family thing.”“I can just imagine fussy, pre-teen Ben Solo complaining.” Rey leaned in and lightly pressed her lips to Ben’s. But when he tried to deepen the kiss she pulled back, giving him a little swat on the shoulder. “And you let me walk in here in black leather, like a darksider here to corrupt you and your soft, flannel-clad self. You planned this.”“It would have been a good plan,” Ben conceded, letting one hand travel from where it had been resting on Rey’s hip up and under the fabric of her shirt.Well,hisshirt.Rey had ended up in plaid after all.---Rey comes home with Ben for Thanksgiving for the first time; cuddling, kissing, and talking about the future ensues. Just a bit of autumn fluff to kick off the season. Inspired by a moodboard by Melusine11





	Family Traditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melusine11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine11/gifts).

> Part of House Plaidam's Falling for Flannel fic event! Little bits of fall-themed Reylo inspired by moodboards. This Thanksgiving treat was inspired by the cozy moodboard below, created by the wonderful Melusine11!

* * *

“I can’t _believe_ you didn’t tell me about the flannel tradition.” Rey’s voice was reprimanding and her brows furrowed, her pretty little mouth twisted into an exaggerated pout, but her hazel eyes sparkled.

She was perched on Ben’s lap, the pair of them crowded together on his too-small bed in his old bedroom after Thanksgiving dinner. It had been at Rey’s urging that he came home for the holiday for the first time in years, but he couldn’t have done it without her by his side. 

Ben’s relationship with his parents had been tenuous for a long time. At one point, fresh out of college, he’d stopped speaking to them for a couple of years, guilt and anger consuming him after a string of fights about the job he had taken had culminated in a shouting match. That he’d ended up breaking an antique platter his great-great-grandmother had brought with her when she immigrated to the U.S. from Eastern Europe didn’t help either.

In hindsight, he could admit that even back then he knew his boss, Andrew Snoke was sketchy, probably part of the reason he’d been so reluctant to listen to his mother and father, to confront the truth. But even though he’d quit First Order Enterprises a few years back—when he’d learned the true extent of Snoke’s crimes, that he’d been involved in counterfeiting and moving drugs, not just tax fraud—and had reconciled with his parents, time and distance had left an awkward chasm between them. Ben was living and working in New Mexico now, across the country from the small Vermont town in which he’d grown up, which didn’t help things much. He’d gone home once, to attend his Aunt Amilyn’s funeral and his mother had made a pit stop to visit him when she’d taken a trip to California, but aside from that, it had been awkward phone calls and Skype conversations. 

“I honestly didn’t think about it,” he said. And it was true. His mind was so consumed with the idea of bringing his girlfriend home to meet his parents that he hadn’t considered it. As they’d driven from the airport into the familiar town of his youth—the narrow lanes, flanked on either side by majestic trees dressed in every shade of red and gold, as familiar as ever—his nerves had been far too focused on going _home_ to think much about his _attire._ “Why would they keep up a tradition from when I was a little kid?”

“Because that’s what a tradition _is._ You’re lucky that you have them.” Rey’s voice wasn’t accusatory, merely frank, but Ben still winced at the underlying pain there. Rey had grown up desperate for the kind of family he had known—even if Leia had been perpetually distracted, and Han so frequently absent, they were still something Rey hadn’t had for herself.

“Rey, I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop,” Rey said simply, putting a finger to Ben’s lips, hushing him and shaking her head. She was much more open with Ben than when they had first met, through a fencing class that both of their therapists had separately recommended as a physical outlet. But she was still very particular and guarded about _when_ she was willing to talk about her past.

“It was a tradition that came out of me not wanting to dress up. What little kid wants to wear a tie to sit in his own dining room?” Ben explained, trying to get the conversation back on track. “My mom cut me a deal when I was ten. No dress shirt, no tie. But I’d wear one of my flannel button-ups and tuck it in. She and my dad made it a family thing.”

“That’s so cute. I can just imagine fussy, pre-teen Ben Solo complaining about dressing up.” Rey leaned in and lightly pressed her lips to Ben’s. But when he tried to deepen the kiss she pulled back, giving him a little swat on the shoulder. “And you let me walk in here in black leather, like a darksider here to corrupt you and your soft, flannel-clad self.”

“It was honestly coincidence I’d packed this shirt,” Ben said, nodding to the black and gray shirt he’d changed into at his mother’s insistence. “I only brought long sleeves because I knew it would be cold.”

“Sure you did,” Rey teased. “You planned this.”

“It would have been a good plan,” Ben conceded, letting one hand travel from where it had been resting on Rey’s hip up and under the fabric of her shirt.

Well, _his_ shirt.

Rey had ended up in plaid after all. A soft and worn red and black number had still been in the closet with some other old clothes of his. It was a size smaller than what he wore now—he hadn’t been quite as broad-shouldered yet in high school—but it still dwarfed her frame. She had the sleeves rolled up to keep the cuffs from swallowing her hands and had tied the ends in a knot at her waist since it hung so long.

And for every time he’d seen her dressed to the nines in swathes of silk or satin that teased him when they went out on the town, for every time she had rendered him speechless with her blade work and the movement of her body in her sleek, form-fitting fencing uniform, for every time he’d seen her glorious body naked, had the privilege to kiss and nibble and suck every bit of her, he wasn’t sure he had ever been quite as overwhelmed as he was now.

To have the woman he loved, casually straddling his legs, looking at him with that playful grin, and wearing his own clothing. It sparked something desperate and possessive in him, as though she’d been claimed. 

And surprisingly domestic too. His mind supplied images of the two of them hanging around some imaginary house, not unlike this, on a lazy Sunday morning, Rey having donned a discarded shirt of his as he made coffee. 

“I like seeing you like this,” he said. His voice dropped an octave as he continued, his fingertips dancing upward until he grazed the swell of her breast. “I could hardly keep my hands to myself at the dinner table.”

“Mmm, what would your parents have thought?” Rey chided as she leaned into his touch. Her eyes fluttered shut on a sigh as she reached up to tangle her fingers in his shaggy, dark hair.

“I kept myself in check. I was a good boy.” Ben used his free hand to tug at the top button of Rey’s shirt. The second and then the third followed. He kissed at the freckles just under her collar bone, the slightly paler skin a little lower still.

“Shall I reward you then?” Rey asked, her voice breathy. Ben responded with a low growl, nipping her skin with his teeth. “I packed that Amidala nightie you like so much. Should I go change?”

“No.” The negligee she’d mentioned _was_ a favorite of his; what he liked even more than how she looked in it was the mere fact that she didn’t ever tease him about his Star Battles obsession. But tonight… “Keep this on.”

“Well it’s certainly more comfortable,” she murmured, tracing Ben’s jawline with her lips until she met his ear, pulling the lobe between her teeth gently, drawing a groan from him at the pressure. “If you’ve got a flannel kink, who am I to argue?”

“It’s not a kink,” he mumbled against the valley between her breasts. “And it’s not about the flannel. It’s about you being _mine_.”

Rey stilled and Ben looked up to see her biting her lip, almost nervously.

“You know, you didn’t tell me your dad was such a silver fox,” she said abruptly, in a voice that tried to sound light but came across almost forced.

Ben raised his eyebrows, unsure where this was headed. “Are you trying to make me jealous or just gross me out?”

“Neither. Well, maybe I _do_ want to get you back for not telling me about the whole shirt thing, just a little. But I was trying to make a joke about family resemblance...that…” She trailed off before taking a deep breath and plunging ahead. “You’ll still look good when we’re, you know, older.”

Ben’s heart raced at the admission. Not because he was flattered—because of the intent behind her words. Rey was often reluctant to talk about the future, guarded. He knew she was afraid of promises not being kept, being left behind, and so she tended to avoid the subject altogether. 

“How much older are you thinking?” He tried to keep his tone light, failed as he looked up at her with hope in his eyes.

“Ben, being here with you...I want this. Forever.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. “I know it hasn’t been that long. But I know I want this.” She gestured around them. “A home. Traditions...a family. I want it with you, and-”

Ben didn’t hear what she was going to say next; he curled his hand around the back of Rey’s neck guiding her face to his and kissing her fiercely, biting her bottom lip and swallowing her answering moan as though he were trying to consume her. 

“I’m scared,” she gasped when they finally parted for air, Ben’s mouth migrating to the tender spot below her ear, sucking at her pulse point, another brand, another claim. Her desperate whispered words reached his mind through the haze of his arousal. “I’m scared of loving you too much, of how it could end, of being alone again.”

“You’re not alone, Rey,” Ben declared adamantly. He cupped her face in his hands, staring deeply, purposefully into her eyes, laced with fear and hope and love. “I love you. I’ll never let you be alone again.”

Later, as they curled together on the narrow bed, worn out in the best of ways, Rey would say it again, without wrapping the words up in fear: _I love you_. Ben would run his fingers through her messy hair and admit he’d already planned to ask for his grandmother’s ring while they were here, just to hold onto, _just in case_. Later still, they would go home and officially terminate the lease Ben had kept up at his apartment, though he already spent most of his time at Rey’s. Much later, Han and Leia would fly out for the wedding and much, _much_ later Rey and Ben would return to Vermont for another Thanksgiving with their infant son in tow.

Wrapped in a soft, plaid blanket to carry on the family tradition. 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks and cozy, plaidam hugs to Trish47 for beta'ing this little bit of fluff for me! And kudos again to Melusine for the board - as soon as I saw it, I knew what I wanted to write!


End file.
